Date: Mon, 28 Oct 2002 14:50:31 EST
From: Louisamay1111@aol.com
Subject: Spilt Milk ch1

    Well. I'm going to write this all down and hide it way, way away. Or
better yet just burn it. But I need to see it all first, and believe that
this is actually happening. Everything I've ever thought of myself, of who I
am, WHAT I am. . .needs re-evaluating. To say the least.
    Beating around the bush here. Hmm. OK, just get down to it. It's been,
what, almost three months now since little Pamela was born. Such a doll, such
an easy birth, my God! If having Tara was like swimming in the ocean during a
hurricane wearing a weighted trenchcoat, then Pammie was a walk in the park
on a summer day. It was like going to the bathroom. All of 45 minutes in
labor. 45 minutes! Tara took 42 HOURS.
    And I was sure then, after Tara's birth ten years ago, that she was the
end of THAT. Absolutely NO WAY was I going to subject myself to THAT again.
Period. And so 10 years later, after I'd stopped really bothering about
precautions because it happened so rarely, here I was again. And terrified,
really.
    So when Pamela came out so unbelievably easily, I was transformed in some
strange way. Not like a "Gratitude has changed my heart to saintly, wifely
ways" sense, but there was a definite kind of serenity, almost an
otherworldliness, that filled me. After Tara, I experienced what I suppose
had been textbook post-partum depression; the experience had been just one of
the many things I dreaded as Pamela came to fruition.
    My husband hadn't wanted me to go through with it, remembering the same
thing. But, oddly, my well-being had nothing to do with him. In fact, part of
its power was how MUCH his absence from this whole. . process contributed to
the good feeling. Hard to explain. And it wasn't that I wasn't horny, or
sensual, either. Au contraire, from my waking (whether at 2, 4, or 6) all the
way through to sliding back under covers, I was an inwardly sighing, tingling
mass of pleasure-sensitivity. Very, very weird, but soo powerful, and
empowering.
    And the mere fact, I think, of childbirth, just like last time, turned my
husband off. So that now he spent as much time as he could away. Which I
resented, but at the same time, I wanted it. I wanted not only his absence,
but the magisterial feel of justified resentment as well.

    I've gone on and on I now see, still without saying what's what. Alright.
The fact is that I have a lover. Ah, you think, THAT's what all this is
about. . .well, yes, and no. What's so unnerving, and confusing, and unREAL
to me is that my lover is my daughter. My best friend, my beautiful, adorable
little ten-year-old(!) secret-sharer -- Tara.

    Perverse, wicked, wicked woman! So some might think. I might have gotten
close to the same feeling myself at some time, before. . .all this. Before I
felt such passion, so much power, and love, and blood-haunting DESIRE.

    Alright. Before I start philosophising about wrong and right, I want to
tell how it happened. To know, but also to relive. . .


    I was in my Big Comfy Chair in the living room corner, by the crib,
nursing Pam. It was a hot day in July, and Ted was out of town. Tara was
lying on the floor in front of me, reading Harry Potter.
    Nursing was wonderful. I hadn't breastfed Tara, hadn't the strength or
inclination, but tried it in the hospital with little Pam, and just fell in
love. How on earth could I have missed this? Well, to be fair, I HAD actually
tried briefly with Tara, but she'd fought it, and that was that.
    But Pammie was such a little doll. I found myself preparing for the time,
almost like I was getting ready to masturbate, that's how hungry I'd be for
it. I'd idly pluck softly at my swollen nipples, loving the surge I'd feel
through my core, from womb to heart. Shuffling through the kitchen, I'd
dandle passing images of Pammie's lips sucking, little fists grabbing. . . It
was a good thing my loose garb was de riguer -- I was one wet Mama, through
and through. Everything seemed to affect me, whether it was the early morning
summer breeze, or now, as I looked across at Tara. She was dressed as she
always was on a summer Saturday late morning: Miffy t-shirt and panties. But
as she lay there on her stomach before me, her little ten-year-old fidgety
girl bottom seemed very attractive to me. I chuckled inwardly at my
outlandish lusts these days, and looked down again at Pam.
    So now I'd been watching Pam nurse, as I did, for another small eternity,
timeless, when I happened to look up and there was Tara, just leaning against
the doorway, watching. I smiled at her, and she sent a small, tight, fleeting
smile back.
    Now I must say that Tara had been quite wonderful, what with the huge
change, and no attention, and my new Toy. . .she'd stayed in the far
background, but I had been aware of what she must be going through.
    Pam had fallen asleep, one little white strand of her spit hanging from
my nipple to her slack little mouth. I smiled up at Tara again. "Want to put
her in the crib?"
    Tara smiled and shook her head.
    I got up slowly, my boobs big, bare, and loose (my oversized t-shirt hung
on the chair), and tucked Pam into her crib. Then I reached for my shirt and
sat to start putting it back on.
    "You're leaking." Tara was expressionless.
    I looked down, and indeed, whitish milk seeped still from my just-sucked
nipple. "Yep. It does that." I touched the fluid with a fingertip. I'd
usually get a little high from nursing. "So warm." I smiled up at Tara. "Hot
cocoa for Pammie."
    She smiled, took a small step forward. She looked unsure of something.
    "What, honey?" Tara smiled weakly. "Did you want to ask me something?"
    She actually blushed. She crossed her longish, tan legs together and
twisted all the way around, rolling her eyes. "It is sooo silly!"
    "Tara, nothing is silly, now what?"
    "No. You'd think I was weird. . ." She looked down at her feet, still
crossed.
    I said nothing, and waited.
    She peered up at me from beneath her dark brows. I saw her look at my
dribbling breast.
    I looked down again, then up. "Tara?"
    "Hmm?" Her skinny arms were now folded behind her back.
    "Is it about my breasts?" Tara blushed, hugely this time. She nodded
quickly.
    "Honey, come here." Tara pigeon-toed over, arms still behind. She stood
about neck-high to my breasts, resolutely looking me in the eye. I leaned
down and kissed her forehead. I felt my breast just brush her t-shirt.
    "Tara. You can ask me anything, honey, you know that. Anything at all."
She was now looking at the breasts so near, her mouth slightly open. "What
about my breasts? Hmm?" I touched my nipple again. Ooh. "Tell me."
    She opened her mouth, closed it. Then: "Why doesn't it stop leaking when
she's finished?"
    I smiled, really liking the feeling of running my thumb over the slick
nipple. And loving the slightly illicit feel of fondling myself in front of
Tara! Ooh, bad, I thought. "Well, THEY don't know she's finished. THEY still
have a lot more if she wants it."
    Tara looked at my breast, at my fingers lightly milking. She looked up at
me again, and I could see, yes, she looked. . .hungry.
    "Tara?" I looked sideways at her. I couldn't really believe I was going
to say this. "You want to finish Pammie's lunch?"
    Ohh, what a precious reaction. I watched her eyes open, dilate, flutter;
her mouth opened, she took a breath, as if elated but not wanting to seem
too. She smiled slightly, started to nod, then nodded faster, grinning.
    "Ohh, honey. . ." I put my arms around her and drew her in to me. She
stood between my legs. I lifted the other, ripe breast to her. "Here," I
murmured, "you have your very own container. Go ahead. . ."
    And Tara leaned in slightly and touched her lips to my happy nipple. She
looked briefly up at me, then wet her lips and wrapped her lips around the
nipple.
    "Go ahead and suck, Tara." I stroked her soft hair. "Only way you'll get
any."
    And she did. Ohhh, she did. And the difference was so urgently sexual;
Tara's mouth sucked hard. Tenderly, but hard. And I felt my milk just flood
up and down and through. . .ohhhhh, God, God, God, sooo good.
    And I watched Tara's eyes light up at paydirt! She grinned around my
breast as I saw the milk in her mouth, and renewed her efforts, sighing with
satisfaction. And as she did, her hips wriggled and wriggled, right up
against my barely clad, soft pussy. Hoooo. I realized, with a mixture of
abandon and concern, that my little girl was going to make me come. I tried
not to let it show. . .
    But I did, somewhat unconsciously, I thought, help out her little
wrigglings by running my hand down to her bottom and kind of rubbing and
stroking and pulling her hips and body into me.
    And I think she was feeling something more too, because her suckling
became a bit fiercer, and she did seem to be kind of grinding her hip into my
crotch.
    I did, umm, croon a bit, shall we say. Just little endearments, little
helping words, "good girl, that's right, mmmm. . .ohhh, I'm so glad I can do
this for you, honey. Yeah, honey.. .that's soo good, Tara. . .mmmMm"
    Her bottom felt so good in my hand. It seemed to contract every time she
swallowed.
    I did come. And I think Tara knew, somehow. When I did, she just hugged
me tightly, then her lips, a little 'plup!' away, then kissing my breasts,
tiny kisses, then we just hugged a long time. . .